Camp Sissy Curls

Stephen yawned as he lay on his bed, the afternoon sun peeking through the window blinds. He was contemplating the just begun summer vacation. Two months of no school! Stephen was thrilled at the thought but also a little skeptical. How would he occupy his time and keep from getting bored, like he already was? He would soon turn thirteen and would be entering 8th grade in the Fall. He was a bit of a loner and didn't have a lot of friends to hang around with. He was small and slight for his age and due to that, was not good at, nor had little interest in, sports.

Stephen's family, as it was, would be of little help in making for an enjoyable and fun summer. Dad had left last week for various cities in Europe on business and would be gone the entire summer. He ran an import/export business. That left him stuck with his step mother (his real mom had died in a car accident two years prior) and his eight year old step sister, Laura; neither of whom he cared particularly for. And they felt the same way about him.

“Stephen Crandall, come downstairs please. I have something to tell you.” his step mom called. He winced and headed downstairs to the kitchen where she and Laura were busy baking some cookies.

“What?” he growled as he entered the kitchen.

“Oh don't be such a grouch Stephen, I've got good news for you. I've made arrangements for you to spend the summer at a camp for boys about an hours drive from here. Swimming, horseback riding, hiking, crafts, archery, sports---all that sort of stuff. You'll have a lot of fun!” she gushed. “We'll take you there tomorrow morning.”

“What's the name of the camp?” I asked, wondering if I might have heard of it.

“Camp SC”, she replied, “and before you ask, I'm not exactly sure what SC stands for. I think it has something to do with a nickname of its founder and owner. But I know you'll have a lot of fun there.” She gave me a slightly devious smile as Laura chuckled in the background.

“I think SC stands for SUPER COOL or maybe STEPHEN CRANDALL!” Laura bubbled with a mischievious smirk on her face.

Minutes later, as I lay on my bed again, I thought “Well, at least, I'll not have to spend the summer with them!”

Early the next morning, my stepmother and stepsister and I made the hour drive to camp. As we drove, I thought about how lightly my stepmother had had me pack for camp. “You don't need to pack a lot of clothes Stephen. I've set up an account with the camp and when you need more clothes, they can be purchased at the camp store or in the nearby town.” she'd said. It seemed a bit odd to me but I was glad for the opportunity to buy new clothes.

When we arrived at and headed into the camp, I was struck by the fact that there seemed to be a lot of girls around and not a lot of boys. We pulled up to the administration building, got out and were immediately met by a very pretty girl, probably about 16 years old. Long blond hair tied in a perky ponytail at the top of her head, shorty shorts with legs that went on forever and a gorgeous figure. A real “Babe” I thought.

“Hi, you must be Stephen. Welcome to the camp. My name's Lisa,” she gushed.

“Are we in the right place? Is this the boys camp becuase I see so many girls around.” I asked.

She smiled, “Oh, definitely. You see, there's a girls camp just next door over that meadow, Camp Sunnyvale, and there's a lot of interaction between the two camps. In fact, I'm from Camp Sunnyvale but I'm also an administrative intern here at the boys camp. It pays for my stay at camp. Come on, grab your bag, say goodbye to your mom and sister and come with me.”

My stepmother told me they'd be up to visit next weekend probably. “Enjoy yourself Stephen. You'll be a whole new person by the end of the summer.”

What did she mean by that, I thought. Lisa then took my hand, almost as if I were a small child, and walked me into the building. Strange as holding my hand seemed, I was glad to have any kind of physical contact with this cute girl.

Lisa walked me into a small office, went to a shelf and took a T-shirt from it. “Here, it's a size small which looks about right for you. It's the official camp T-shirt. You can take it into the next room and put it on.”

It appeared to be a simple white shirt with some kind of lettering across the front. I took it into the next room, removed my shirt, and just as I was starting to pull it over my head, in walked Lisa.

“You all set there sport?” she asked.

It was then that I noticed that across the front of it, it said in large pink letters---CAMP SISSY CURLS.

“What the hell is this?” I gasped. “What is CAMP SISSY CURLS? I can't wear this.”

“Oh silly boy, that's the name of this camp. It's what SC stands for. It was the nickname of the founder of this camp, who when he was a boy, had long, curly hair. And the kids teased him and called him Sissy Curls. And, of course, the fact that his mother often tied ribbons in his hair didn't help his situation either. All the campers wear it. Please put it on for me!” she said coquettishly with a smile.

It all sounded so very odd but I did as I was asked, not wanting to displease this extremely cute girl that I already had a crush on.

Lisa continued, “Just what do you know about this camp? What did your stepmother tell you about it?”

“That it's a boys camp---swimming, hiking, canoeing, archery, crafts, sports---the usual, regular stuff.”

“Well, yeah, it's all that but there's a lot more to it. But you'll learn all that very soon enough. Come with me please. We have to do something with your hair.” She took my hand again and walked me into another room.

The room appeared to be a small hair salon, not a barber shop like I would expect, but really a beauty parlor. My hair was long and straight and reached just down past my shoulders. I hadn't had it cut in a long, long time and fiqured I was gonna be given a buzz cut for the summer, which would be okay with me.

A matronly, middle aged woman greeted me from behind a styling chair. “Hi Stephen, I'm Miss Baldwin, the camp beautician. My but you have a lovely, long, full head of hair. Come have a seat please.”

Beautician, I thought----that's weird. I sat down and she placed a large, pink plastic cape around me. She combed hair down across my forehead and began to cut deep, straight bangs across it.

“What are you doing?” I gasped.

“Oh, relax Sweetie, just want to give you some cute bangs before you get your permanent.”

“PERMANENT-----are you crazy!!!” I cried.

“Stephen, all new campers are given a permanent, if they are lucky enough to have long hair like you. If not, they have to wear a wig.” And she pointed to a shelf of wigs that looked like something out of a Shirley Temple movie. “Now sit still,” she admonished, “you'll soon have a cute head full of pretty, little girlish ringlets and sausge curls!”

She turned away from me to get a comb. I have to get out off this insane place I thought. I immediately ripped off the cape and bolted for the door only to have it blocked by Lisa, who grabbed me and held me until Miss Baldwin could take control of me. Being small for my age, the two of them had little trouble in dragging me to a chair, where Miss Baldwin seated herself and put me over her knee. She pulled down my blue jeans and underpants and my bare behind was exposed, which was especially humiliating with Lisa watching.

“My, but what a cute little girlie bum you have Stephen!” she laughed. “You're gonna learn an important lesson in obeying here at camp now.” She asked Lisa for a hairbrush which she gladly gave her with a devilish smile. “Your little girlie bum will be even cuter when it's nice and cherry red,” Miss Bladwin added as she proceeded to spank the “living daylights” out of me. I was crying uncontrollably.

After what had to have been at least 20 hard whacks, she stopped and asked if I was ready now for my permanent.

“Yes,” I sobbed.

“Yes what!!!,” she yelled as she gave my fanny another whack.

“Yes please???” I said.

“Yes please what!!!” as another whack crossed my bottom.

“Please give me a pretty, little girl permanent so I can have nice, pretty ringlets and sausage curls.” I had really embellished this last answer in the hopes it would satisfy her and end my spanking. And it worked. She stopped.

I was stood up and my underpants and blue jeans were pulled up, but not before Lisa got a good look at my stiff, little “thing”.

“Boy, he sure is small down there!” she commented. And I groaned with humiliation.

As I was walked back to the styling chair, Lisa taunted, “Stephen had a little stiffy!” And with that said, she gave my behind a very hard, biting pinch. It surprised me and hurt a lot and combined with all I had just gone through, it actually caused me to wet my pants.

“Well, well, well, it looks like we have a little Miss Puddle Pants here. Take him to the nursery Lisa and I'll be there in a moment to take care of him before he gets his permanent.” Miss Baldwin exclaimed.

I sobbed with shame and embarrassment.

Lisa held my hand and walked me to the nursery. Upon entering, the first thing that caught my attention was the awful smell of what had to be wet and poopy diapers. We were met immediately by another girl, probably about the same age as Lisa and equally as pretty.

“Hi Lisa, looks like someone had an accident,” she said as I stared at the floor in absolute humiliation.

“Yup, this in Stephen, a brand new camper, and he has a lot to learn about behaving at camp. Miss Baldwin said she'd come in and sort him out in a minute so you don't have to perform your apprentice Nanny duties on him. You get a bit of a break Sarah!” Lisa told her.

“Great, I have my hands full with all these other sissy babies.” smiled Sarah.

“Sarah's a friend of mine from Camp Sunnyvale and interns here as a Nanny.” Lisa explained to me. “Look around and see what happens to boys who don't behave at camp and what's in store for you if you don't tow the line.”

I looked around the room in sheer horror. It was filled with oversized baby furnishings---cribs, playpens, high chairs, bassinettes, changing tables and even strollers. Even more horrifying was that a lot of this baby furniture held oversized little baby girls who I now reallized had to really be boys. Each “baby girl” was dressed in a lavishly frilled short baby dress with voluminous petticoats underneath. Their dresses were so short that their bulbous, lacy underpants (which I was later to learn were called “rhumba panties”) was easily seen. I assumed their underpants were so thick due to having diapers underneath them. Each baby girl's head was adorned with a frilly baby bonnet (bouncy ringlets and sausage curls peeking out from underneath), their feet in lace trimmed socks, and each sucked away on a pacifier or baby bottle or their thumb--well, except for the one who was seated in a high chair being spoon fed baby food. Another poor soul was being placed on a changing table and soon his soiled, wet diapers were removed to recive a changing.

My horror at all this was quickly interrupted by the sound of Miss Baldwin's voice. “Come along Little Miss Puddle Pants and we'll get you squared away.”

I was made to take ALL my clothes off in front of everyone and told to throw them, except for my camp T-shirt, in a garbage bin nearby. “Won't need those anymore Stephen!” Miss Baldwin chided.

I was crying profusely as I was led to a bubble filled bath tub to get “squeaky clean and smelling pretty” as Miss Baldwin said. Miss Baldwin, with Lisa's help, gave me a good scrubbing and also washed my hair in preperation for my permanent. After being bathed and dried, I was led naked to a changing table and made to lie face up on it. Despite my degradtion, my little “Willy” was saluting mightily and caused a lot of giggling from Lisa and Sarah. I wanted to die from the embarrassment. I considered bolting for the door again but knew it would be fruitless. I'd only wind up like the “baby girls” around me.

“As long as we have him here and clean and naked, we might as well take care of the little bit of body hair he has.” suggested Miss Baldwin.

Lisa and Miss Baldwin meticulously applied some kind of creamy, stinging lotion to every, and I do mean EVERY, knook and cranny of my body. It was awful to have every private part of my body so invaded. After a short while, when the lotion had done its job, they used towels to wipe it off leaving my entire body, except for my head, totally and completely hairless.

“Perfect. Just like a newborn baby! We'll pluck and shape his eyebrows later while his permanent is setting. Will you finish him up and bring him back to the salon when you're done Lisa?” Miss Baldwin said.

Oh God, I thought, what did “finish him up” involve and, of course, I soon found out.

Lisa took some baby powder and sprinkled me all over and placed an extremely thick, many layered cloth diaper under my bum and pinned it tightly in place with pink capped diaper pins.

“Please, noooooooo, please.” I begged but to no avail.

“Hey, you wet your pants so, obviously you need diapers!” she scolded as she pulled pink, transparent plastic diaper pants over my diaper.

My camp T-shirt was placed back on me. Lisa took my hand and led me, waddling from the thickness encasing my groin, back to the salon for my permanent.

Miss Baldwin was eagerly waiting for me back at the salon.

“I trust you're now ready for your permanent Stephen!” she said.

“Yes,” I groaned.

“Yes what?” she snarled.

I knew what she meant. “Yes-- please will you give me a permanent so I can have nice, pretty ringlets and sausage curls?”

“Very good sissy boy,” and she set to work on my hair. The pink plastic cape was fastened and she finished cutting deep, straight girlish bangs across my forehead. She then wet my hair thoroughly and proceeded to tightly wind pink curling rods and papers into my hair. Lisa assisted. The tightly wound rods hurt very much and I winced as each one was attached to my head. After what seemed to be an eternity, my head was completely covered in rods. I guessed close to a hundred of them. A bottle of setting lotion was opened, its offensive “rotten eggs” smell filling the room. They carefully applied the lotion to each rod. In the mirror I could see all that was being done.

When the last rod was saturated with the fowl lotion, I saw in the mirror how the curling rods glistened from it. I cried. I looked like such a sissy and surely felt like one too--an almost thirteen year old boy in diapers and pink plastic diaper pants getting an old fashioned little girl permanent. It was unbearable.

“We'll leave the lotion on for 45 minutes to give him nice and tight and bouncy curls and then apply the neutralizer,” she told Lisa, “and in the meantime, we'll pluck and tweeze his eyebrows.”

As they worked on my eyebrows, Lisa told me, “Don't be so sad Stephen. Like Miss Baldwin told you earlier, you're lucky to have hair long enough for a permanent. Otherwise you'd have to wear a wig and they're not nearly so pretty as your real curls will be. Besides, wigs are a nuisance and are hot and itchy to wear, especially in the summer. I'll teach you how to set your hair in rollers because your curls will need to be set each night before bedtime to maintain their bounce and shape. That's really the only downside to it.”

Oh dear God I thought. Now I'm going to have to set my hair each night and sleep in rollers. Could I be more girlish?

Forty five minutes later, my eyebrows were done----arched into thin girlish curves. The neutalizer was applied and I was placed under a hairdryer and spent the next half hour eating the tuna sandwich and sipping the Coke they'd given me and reading “American Girl” magazines, as Miss Baldwin had told me to do.

When my perm was dry, they took me to a hair washing station and gently shampooed it with a mild shampoo meant for permed hair. Then I was taken back to the chair where I had been permed and they gently used a hand dryer to redry and style my “tresses” (their word). My hair still smelled of the perm lotion. I was told it would take a few days for the smell to totally go away. They had turned me away from the mirror though, so I couldn't see what was going on. With styling done, Miss Baldwin produced two pink hair barrettes which she clipped just behind my bangs on each side of my head. As a final humiliation, I saw her take a large piece of pink satin ribbon and I shuddered as I felt her tying in a large bow at the crown of my head.

“Are you ready Sweetie to see your pretty new look?” Miss Baldwin chimed.

With that, she turned me toward the mirror. I was looking at the face of a very prissy little girl with a head full of gleaming and beautifully curled ringlets and sausage curls crowned with a huge floppy pink ribbon bow on top and matching pink barrettes. Tears streamed down my face and I prayed the ground would open and swallow me up. The curls bounced and bobbed with the slightest movement of my head. Now I looked like I belonged at a camp called “Camp Sissy Curls”.

“Okay Lisa, pretty boy is all yours now,” laughed Miss Baldwin as she removed the pink cape from me.

“Come on Stephen, the director of the camp is expecting you in her office. Let's go.” And Lisa took my hand.

As we left, I noticed the time on a clock on the wall. It was a little after 5 PM. I'd only been here since early morning yet it seemed like I'd been here for an eternity. As we entered the director's office, I felt so incredibly ashamed and humiliated to be standing there in ribbons and curls and diapers. I shamefully hung my ringletted head as the middle aged woman spoke.

“Hello Stephen, my name is Ms. Roberts and I'm the director of this special camp for boys. My late father founded this camp some years back. It's my pleasure to welcome you here. Please sit down.”

I seated myself in the chair in front of her desk, not raising my shamefully hung head, and said nothing.

“I understand your stepmother has told you little about the purpose of this camp but that will become quite evident to you very soon, if it hasn't already. I can only assume that you must be a very ill-behaved young man to be sent here. But we'll correct that.”

I really wasn't a bad kid I thought. My stepmother just never really liked me or liked having me around and I felt the same way about her.

Ms. Roberts continued, “Now Lisa is going to take you into town to purchase something.”

I gasped at the thought of being seen in public in my current state. Afterall, I was wearing only a diaper, pink plastic diaper pants, the camp T-shirt and, of course, my ribbons and curls.

“The purpose of this trip is to teach you two very important lessons and when you return, I'll see if you can tell me what they are. But you can't go into town looking like that.”

Thank God, I thought as she went to a closet and produced the small suitcase of clothes I had brought to camp. She sorted through it and took out a tan pair of slacks of mine, brown socks, a belt and my brown loafers.

“Here, put them on over your diaper and tuck your T-shirt in.”

I had hoped to be relieved of the diaper and “Camp Sissy Curls” T-shirt but that was not about to happen. But at least my shameful diaper would be hidden. As I pulled up my pants and fastened the belt, I was horrified to discover that the thick diaper created a huge bulge in my pants that was quite noticeable. And, of course, nothing would hide my “Shirley Templed” head.

“Please Ms. Roberts, the pants don't hide my diaper.” I sobbed.

“Then you can take them off and just wear your diaper and pretty pink diapers pants to town if you prefer.” she scoffed.

She had me caught between a rock and a hard place. I put my socks and loafers on and Lisa took me out to the waiting camp shuttle bus for the ride into town. Sarah was there to make the trip with us. The driver chuckled as we boarded.

“Headed for the Mall GIRLS?” he sniggered.

“Yes please. Stephen here needs to buy something.” Lisa replied.

We seated ourselves and I was glad that we were the only ones on the bus.

Lisa handed me a twenty dollar bill and said, “There's a Rite-Aid at the end of the Mall. You're to go in there and buy a package of Depends Adult diapers--size small should fit you nicely.”

“Oh God no,” I pleaded, “How long am I gonna be kept in diapers?”

Sarah answered, “Well, I guess that 'DEPENDS' on you and how well you behave and how long you stay dry Stephen.”

I was shaking in fear at the humiliation and embarrassment I was about to experience. As we neared the Mall, Lisa told the driver to drop us off at the far end of it.

“Please pick us up here in an hour.” she told the driver as we exited the bus.

Lisa took my hand and Sarah took the other and walked me into the packed Mall. I kept my head hung low, my ringlets and sausage curls dangling about my face.

“Rite Aid's at the other end of the Mall.” she chuckled. “But I'm thirsty. Let's get a soda somewhere. We have plenty of time.”

I kept my eyes closed as much as I could as we walked (well--me waddling from the thick diaper) to the Food Court for a drink. All around me I heard laughing and giggling and tormenting, biting comments about the “sissy boy” in diapers and ribbons and curls. The “Camp Sissy Curls” T-shirt said it all.

We got our drinks and I sucked the straw as I was paraded through the Mall toward the other end where Rite-Aid was. I continued to keep my eyes closed and wished I could plug my ears so I wouldn't hear the bombardment of taunting and teasing and jeering and laughter as shoppers beheld me. I also received many compliments, though meant sarcastically, about how pretty my hair-do was.

It was all so awful and I was so scared that, without even reallizing it, I found myself wetting my diaper. I tried to stop the flow but I couldn't. I prayed the diaper and plastic pants would contain all the wetness. But before long, to my absolute horrror, a large wet spot started to appear on the front of my slacks. Now everyone could see that I had a wet diaper. I was bawling my eyes out.

Passers-by were even more shocked now at the sight of the be-curled, be-ribboned sissy boy who had now wet his diaper.

By the time we reached Rite-Aid, the front of my pants were soaked. Sarah and Lisa let go of my hands.

Lisa told me, “You're to go in and purchase your Depends by yourself.”

I had to open my eyes and pleaded, “Please don't make me do this!” But it fell on deaf ears. I pathetically trudged inside and searched the aisles for adult diapers. Thankfully, I spotted what I needed quickly and took the package of Depends size small to the counter to pay for them. All around me, shoppers gasped and laughed at the sight of me.

The clerk behind the check-out giggled as I paid and remarked, “I can sure see why you need these sissy boy!”

She handed me the change and receipt. I asked her if she could put my purchase in a bag.

“Sorry Sweetie Pie but we're outta bags big enough to put them in.”

My hopes to at least have the dignity of having my purchase concealed were dashed.

With my very visible and obviously much needed Depends in hand, I left the store and was escorted by Sarah and Lisa back through the Mall toward the other end where the bus was to be waiting. Lisa and Sarah didn't hold my hands this time. They had reallized that if they didn't, I'd have to keep my eyes open to see where I was going and would have to take in all the “visual” horror of my humiliation.

My shame was unbearable, my humilation unrelenting and my tears were unstoppable.

As we reached the Mall exit where the bus was indeed waiting, I was given one last crushing comment from a very pretty little girl who was entering with her mother.

“Look mommy! Why does that boy have pretty curls and ribbons like me? And he's wet himself!”

“Hurry along Jenny and mind your own business,” was the mother's quick reply.

I gladly boarded the waiting shuttle bus. The driver just giggled at the sight of my wet pants and upon eyeing my Depends, he remarked, “A wise purchase.”

Lisa and Sarah seated me by myself, wanting to avoid the smell of my pee soaked diaper and pants. They sat on the opposite side of the aisle across from me.

Lisa was the first to speak. “Stephen, Ms. Roberts will want to meet with you when we get back to camp. You'll recall that she told you that the purpose of this trip was to teach you two important lessons. You're best to think of what those two lessons are that, hopefully, you've learned.” And with that, they left me to my thoughts and they just talked between themselves.

I was too upset and in shock from my awful trip to the Mall to figure out what two lessons I had learned. All I knew was that this day had been the most embarrassing experience that I could ever imagine. And how much I hated my stepmother for sending me to Camp Sissy Curls.

Half an hour later found me seated in the chair in Ms. Roberts' office again--still wet and holding my Depends.

“Well Stephen, what two important things did you learn from your shopping trip?”

I sobbed, holding my pretty head in my hands, “I don't know. All I know is it was awful!”

“Well, I guess that's a start sissy boy. But I suppose I have to give you a little help.----Do you enjoy wearing and using a diaper?”

“No, of course not,” I cried.

“Very good. That's lesson number one---you want to do your best to avoid wearing and using diapers. Now lesson number two is a little more involved. I gave you your slacks and belt and socks and shoes to wear to the Mall. Do you think those clothes caused you any problem?”

“Well, the slacks showed the bulge of my diapers.” It seemed the logical answer to me.

“True---but suppose you hadn't been wearing diapers and hadn't wet yourself and your slacks were dry and bulge free. Do you think wearing your pants, socks and shoes could have caused any other problems?” she probbed.

I was clueless. “I'm not sure what you mean Ms. Roberts.”

“Okay, I'll put it this way. If I got you all cleaned up, put your regular underwear on you, another pair of your slacks, and your socks and shoes, and even one of your own shirts and sent you back to the Mall.....”

“NOOOOO, please NO!!!!!” I blubbered.

“Relax, I don't think that will be necessary, but if I did all that---do you think your trip would still be very embarrassing for you?”

I just gave her a perplexed look.

She continued, “Just think about this Sweetie. Even if I sent you to the Mall without diapers and wearing all your own clothes, how do you think people would perceive you?”

Now I was really lost because I didn't know what “perceive” meant.

Ms. Roberts sensed this. “Given your head full of pretty curls and your barrettes and your pretty pink hair bow and plucked eyebrows, would people think you were a girl or a boy?”

“A boy,” I answered.

“That's right. And a very sissy boy at that. Very good Stephen,” she beamed. “So what's the second lesson you've learned?”

I could begin to see where all this was going, as abhorrent as it was to me. But I couldn't bring myself to give the humiliating answer.

“Well Stephen?”

I wouldn't shame myself by answering.

“Come on Stephen, or maybe a trip across my lap with a hair brush will loosen your tongue!”

I so did not want another spanking and knew my answer had to be given.

Finally I muttered through tears “I should wear girl's clothes.”

“What? I can't hear you sissy boy!” she scolded.

“It would be better for me if I wore girl's clothes.” I said in absolute defeat and misery.

“Bingo Stephen! Exactly! With a pretty dress and a little make-up and nail polish, you could be perceived as a girl and not a sissified boy---a lot less embarrassing for you in public.”

Dear God, I thought. Things had become so twisted that I could now see how the logic of being dressed in girl's clothes, though sickening to me, would cause LESS humiliation for me in public. And it seemed that displaying me in public a lot was in my future. It was a real conflict in terms for me.

“Now head back to the nursey Stephen for a cleanup and diaper change and you are to report back here at 9:00 tomorrow morning. I'll expect you to ask me something then. Think about that in the meantime.” And she bid me good night.

“But I thought I wouldn't have to wear diapers,” I pleaded.

“You'll have to prove that you don't need them first Sweetie Pie. Now off you go.”

The nanny on duty gave me a bubble bath, powdered and diapered me in three of my Depends and pulled very elaborately frilled and ruffled plastic lined rhumba diaper panties over the diapers. Ruffles around the leg openings, ruffles across the bum, ruffles everywhere on them. Extremely “little baby girlish”. With a lacy, white nitey pulled on to me, she proceeded to remove my barrettes and ribbon bow started setting my hair in pink plastic clip-on rollers.

“Pay attention sissy boy because you'll have to do this for yourself soon.”

It took a long time to have all my curls set. While she set my hair, I drank juice from a Sippy cup and ate cookies that she had given me. By 9:00 she was done. She placed a pink hair net over the curlers and took my hand.

“Campers who wear diapers have to sleep here in the nursery.” she said as she led me to an open crib in a darkened area of the nursery where the over-sized baby cribs were. I could hear and smell other diapered sissy boys in nearby cribs.

“If you haven't messed your diapers by morning sissy boy, Ms. Roberts may let you go without them,” she whispered as she stuck a pink pacifier in my mouth, slipped a Teddy Bear under my arm to cuddle and pulled a large white baby blanket over me. “Sleep tight, Snookums.”

It took like what seemed to be hours to fall asleep. Not a surprise, given the fact that all the day's horrific events were replaying over and over again in my mind. As well as thoughts about what the rest of the summer had in store for me. And thoughts about how much I hated my stepmother for bringing me here. The thick diapers and prickly rollers contributed much to my insomnia too.

My last thought before finally falling asleep was “What did Ms. Roberts expect me to ask her in the morning?”

6AM, the dawn of my second day at Camp Sissy Hell, as far as I was concerned. I had woken up early, on my own, from my fitful sleep due to the uncomfortable and foreign feeling of my tightly wound curlers and bulging diapers.

No hope of it all being a dream, I thought. This was for real. Other “babies” around me were stirring but they all still seemed to be asleep. I was relieved that I had not REILIEVED myself at all in my diapers. They were still clean. I wondered when the official “wakeup” time was.

As I dozed in my crib, I thought about what Ms. Roberts expected me to ask her this morning. I knew it all had to be some devious ploy on her part to get me to ask her something very degrading to me. An hour passed and I still hadn't figured out what I was expected to ask of her.

But more disturbing than that was---I was beginning to feel pressure and rumblings in my stomach area, not of hunger but of a need to poop. And I also was getting the urge to pee. If I could have a clean diaper at wakeup, I'd be allowed to go without diapers.

By 7:30, I was squirming and fidgeting, trying to keep the inevitable from happening. I so wanted a clean diaper for whenever wakeup time was.

At 7:45, Mother Nature won the battle. I cried as I could hold it no longer and pooped out a huge load into the seat of my diapers, followed by a forceful stream of pee. It was horrible, to say the very least. The smell and feel and squish of my poo was awful. But just as bad and extremely repugnant was the act itself of having to poop one's own diapers. For a one or two year old, no problem. But for an almost thirteen year old boy, this babyish experience was a very humiliating and degrading thing to do. But that seemed to be the goal of this camp, to humiliate and degrade boys AND to force them to humiliate and degrade THEMSELVES.

I laid in my crib crying. I was fidgeting and squirming, but this time, in a fruitless effort to try to ease the feeling of the very wet and very poopy diapers I was encased in.

At 8:00, lights began to slowly come on and Nannys started moving about. I had missed staying clean by about fifteen minutes only and faced more time in diapers. How much more time I could only wonder.

“Well, looks like we have a 'Little Miss Poopy Pants' here!” was the morning greeting I received from a dowdy, heavy set woman.

Down went the crib bars, “Waddle over to the changing table and I'll get you squared away Sweet Pea.”

Ten minutes later, I was clean and freshly diapered in three Depends covered with lavishly frilled rhumbas like last night's, only in baby pink. I was wearing a Camp Sissy Curls T-shirt, but it too was baby pink, as was the pacifier now protruding from my mouth. Pink Jellies were my foot gear.

Seated at a vanity table, the nanny removed my rollers and started combing and primping my curls.

“Oh my goodness,” she gushed, “you have such beautiful hair! Far too pretty to be wasted on a boy.” I said nothing in response.

She finished off my hair with pink barrettes and a pink bow tied to each side of my head this time. The ends of the ribbons dangled over my ears.

“There you go sissy, as pretty as a picture.” she chimed. “Now let's get those teeth brushed and then I'll take you to Ms. Roberts' office. It's almost nine.”

At nine on the dot, I knocked on Ms. Roberts' door. “Come in Stephen, I'm expecting you,” she called.

I stood in front of her, eyes glued to the floor. “Well Sweetie, it appears you haven't taken to heart the first lesson about keeping out of diapers. I do hope you're not planning to spend the entire summer in wet, poopy, stinky diapers!” There seemed to be little sincerity in her words--me in diapers all summer was probably exactly what she wanted.

“I couldn't help it,” I moaned.

“Of course Babykins,” she jeered, “have a seat Pumpkin.”

Boy, I was getting sick of all these “cutsie” names. I sat and she began.

“Now what do you want to ask me Stephen?”

“I don't know.”

“Come, come you don't appear to be a stupid boy----what do you want to ask me? Think about what we talked about last night.” she said.

“I just don't know!” I stressed.

She frowned, “Okay..........have you had breakfast yet?”

“No.” I replied, surprised by her sudden change of gears.

“In an hour, I'm going into town to the post office to mail some packages. There's a Perkins across the street from it. I'm going to take you with me and we'll both get some breakfast there after the post office. In the meantime, you can just sit on the bench outside my office and try to keep your diapers clean.”

“NO--PLEASE NOT THAT---PLEASE DON'T----PLEASE NO, NO, NOOOOOOOO!” I begged and sobbed and stomped my feet on the floor.

“Oh, you're definitely going to town with me!!! Now then, what do you want to ask me?” She was unrelenting.

Then it hit me, though I think that deep down inside I knew all along.

“Ummm, can I wear a dress?” I said in almost a whisper.

“Speak up, I can't hear you sissy boy!”

“CAN I WEAR A DRESS?” and I held my hands to my face in utter defeat and shame.

But she wasn't satisfied yet. “What kind of DRESS?”

She threw a curve to me on that one.

“A very pretty dress--PLEASE,” was all I could come up with. I was mortified.

“Good GIRL!!! Very good GIRL!!! Of course you can wear a pretty dress. And some makeup and lipstick and nail polish too. Now that wasn't so bad, was it?” she grinned.

I, of course, didn't answer her. But it was sooooo very bad. It was so bad that I almost thought I was going to throw up.

“Go back to the nursery and they'll fix you up with something nice and pretty. Report back here in an hour Sweetie Pie.”

At 10:20, with tears streaming down my face, I again knocked on Ms. Roberts' door.

“Come in!” she called, in a very sing songy voice.

I stood in front of her tugging nervously at the hem the most frilliest pink satin party dress imaginable. The kind a little girl might wear in a Beauty Pageant or to a fancy birthday party. Ribbons and lace and ruffles lavishly covered almost every square inch of it. Puffed sleeves, Peter Pan collar, a wide sash tied in back with a huge bow. The skirt of the dress was very short and extremely full due to the multiple white organza petticoats it floated on. I couldn't even see my feet, which were adorned in lacy pink anklets and pink patent leather Mary Janes. My lacy gloved hands clutched a small matching pink purse. I had light makeup on, pink lip gloss and matching pink nail polish. I was shocked and certainly wasn't expecting to be dressed in such a sissy, little girl way. This didn't seem really much better than the way I was dressed before.

“You look absolutely adorable! Very, very pretty.” Ms. Roberts gushed as she approached me and took a small spray bottle from her purse. “Just one more thing Sweetie.” And she sprayed perfume behind my ears and on my wrists.

She wiped my tears with her handkerchief and admonished me to not cry and ruin my makeup.

“Time's growing short. Let's get going STEPHANIE!” she said. Sensing my surprise at the name, she added, “Well, don't you think that name is more appropriate for you now?”

As we walked toward her mini-van, I reallized how difficult my dress and petticoats were to control. They seemed to have a life of their own. The slightest breeze lifted them up, almost like a kite on the end of a string. They bounced and swished with every step and movement. If I bent over even just a little, I knew my diapers and rhumba panties would be fully displayed to anyone nearby. All these feelings and sensations were very unfamiliar to me and absolutely awful.

Upon reaching her mini-van, I experienced another problem---how to sit down in my ocean of frills.

“Normally Stephanie, a girl smoothes her skirt or dress behind her when she sits. But with your dress being so full and on the short side (short side was an understatement I thought), it probably would be best for you to just lift it up and sit down on your bum.”

I did so and buckled my seatbelt. As we drove toward town, I complained.

“Ms. Roberts, I thought my dress would be simpler and more like what a girl my age would wear. This is so frilly and sissy. I look like a 5 year old on her way to some fancy party!”

“You're absolutely right Stephanie. You look like a 5 year old little girl because THAT'S what you are now. You should be thankful for that. I could have started you off as a 1 year old baby girl, like those boys in the nursery. If you behave and accept your situation like a good little girl, in time, you'll be allowed to dress more age appropriately. If not, you'll be dressed as a full fledged little baby girl. It's up to you Sweet Pea.”

I sobbed and sniffled into tissues Ms. Roberts gave me as she continued.

“I admit that your outfit is a little over the top, should we say, and it is designed to be worn for very special occasions. But this IS a very special occasion. It's your first outing as a complete girl and I want you to experience your new femininity to the fullest. I want you to be fully immersed in little girlhood. You may even grow to like it Stephanie!”

“Never.” I replied.

“There's the post office, come on, let's go.” she said, pulling into a parking spot.

As we entered, everyone seemed to stop at once to gape at me. Many giggled or laughed but nothing was said until we reached the counter where Ms. Roberts placed her packages to be mailed.

“Good morning Ms. Roberts.” said the post office clerk, with a cheery smile. “Looks like you have a new camper!”

And looking at me, she remarked “You look very pretty in your dress young MAN. What's your name Honey?”

She knew I was a boy, as probably everyone else did. In my shock, I accidently dropped my purse. When I bent to pick it up, I heard an uproar of laughter and realized I had just given everyone a full view of my diapers and rhumba panties.

A lady behind us in line giggled to Ms. Roberts, “He still needs diapers, I see.”

“Hopefully in time, little Stephanie here will grow out of them.” was her reply to the lady.

“I would certainly think he'll be eager to.” quipped the lady.

We left the post office with me struggling to control my dress and petticoats in the slight breeze that was blowing. My eyes were fixed to the pavement, not wanting to see anyone.

My experience at the restaurant was very similar to the post office. People laughed and giggled at the sight of me but didn't say a lot.

With much difficulty, I managed to seat myself in the booth we were ushered to----my dress and petticoats billowing all around me.

“Hi Ms. Roberts, new camper I see! What can I get for you?” said the pretty, young waitress standing at our booth.

Ms. Roberts ordered her breakfast and the waitress turned to me. “And what would you like young MAN?” She said with a giggle.

Everyone knew I was a boy! Ms. Roberts had tricked me and lied to me. Dressing in girl's clothes seemed to do nothing to conceal the fact that I was a boy. This outing was no less humiliating than yesterday's trip to the Mall.

When our breakfasts came, I ate quickly wanting to get out of there as soon as possible and back to the relative security of the van. Mercifully, we were out of the restaurant in less than an hour.

Riding back to camp, with crocodile tears streaming down my face, I confronted Ms. Roberts. “You tricked me, you lied! You said if I wore a dress and makeup and all that stuff, people would think I was a girl. But everyone knew I'm a boy.”

“I didn't lie Stephanie. But there are two factors involved that caused them to know you were a boy. For one, the town is small and everybody knows me and knows about the special boys camp I run. So naturally, they knew you were a boy. Secondly, and this is another good lesson for you to learn--- you walk, talk, sit, eat and carry yourself like a boy. Your mannerisms are not at all girlish.”

“Yeah, cuz I'm a boy!” I said.

Ms. Roberts paused for a moment to think and then continued.

“Let me put it to you this way. If I took you to the Mall right now and you spoke in a higher voice and acted and walked more femininely and all, people would think you were a girl--though a very sissyish one--but a girl at least. The Mall is outside of town. Near the Interstate exit ramp. Packed with people who are just passing through the area. People who don't know me or Camp Sissy Curls. THEY'D think you were a girl. Care to test my theory? We can head for the Mall.”

“No Ms. Roberts.” I quickly answered.

“Then stop your blubbering and quit complaining and think about what I just told you Stephanie. When we get back to camp, Lisa's agreed to come by and take you on a tour of our camp. You've seen nothing really of it except for the inside of the administration building. And she'll take you to dinner at the camp cafeteria and you'll meet lots of the other happy campers!”

“Happy campers” I thought, yeah right.

Back at camp, Lisa was indeed waiting for me outside Ms. Roberts' office.

“Oh my God, you look sooooo precious Stephen!” she cried.

“It's Stephanie now.” corrected Ms. Roberts.

“So frilly and prissy, I could just eat you up! And Stephanie is a perfect name for you,” continued Lisa, “well, let's get going Stephie. Got a lot to see.”

She took my hand like before. While I knew she took my hand as a means of control like a mother would take her little girl's hand, maybe even as a symbol of domination, I still enjoyed having some physical contact with this gorgeous girl. I also knew that would be as far as I would ever get with her. No pretty, 16 year old girl would ever have anything to do with a pansy in diapers and ribbons and curls and petticoats like me.

Outside the building, she primped my curls and adjusted my hair bows and smoothed my dress over my petticoats. She even retied the bow of my sash. “I want you looking like a perfect little miss!” she giggled.

We spent over an hour walking around the campgrounds, me constantly battling with my dress and petticoats for control.

“Don't you just love the feeling of your petties Stephie? The way they swish and bob and bounce around you as you walk.”

“Aaaaah-NO, it's horrible.” I said, thinking she was crazy.

“Well I so adored fussy, frilly, pouffie dresses when I was a little girl like you.”

Her words really stabbed me in the heart, even though she was right. I was a little girl now and it was so awful.

The afternoon was a sunny, bright and warm one. I could feel beads of sweat dripping under the sausage curls dangling over my neck and shoulders. I was overdressed for a warm day, or for that matter any day, I thought.

All around, girls (who I knew were really boys of course) were busy playing volleyball, tennis, archery, soccer, kickball--all the typical sports things of a normal camp. Some were just reading under the shade of a tree. They were all pretty much dressed in the same way---the Camp Sissy Curls T-shirt over a short pleated tan skirt. They wore white socks and girls sneakers. I could see, as they ran or jumped, that they wore lacy white panties underneath their skirts. I could also detect bra straps under their T-shirts. All the boys had their hair, or wigs in some cases, tied up with scrunchies or ribbons in a ponytail or pigtails or braids or some fashion to keep the hair out of their eyes and off their necks.

“How come no one wears shorts?” I asked Lisa.

“Absolutely NO pants of ANY kind are EVER worn for ANY reason by ANY camper! Well except for” and she giggled, “panties. But that's different.”

“Okay, okay--I get the message!” I replied sarcastically.

With that, she slapped me across the face. “Don't you speak to me like that SISSY BOY.”

I said no more. I had gotten that message too.

As we walked around, many of the “Nancyboys”, as Lisa called them, would stop what they were doing and gawk and giggle a little at me. But none taunted or teased me at all. I figured for fear of finding themselves in dresses and petticoats and diapers like me. I did envy them their clothes though, as perverse as it seemed.

With dinner time approaching, Lisa led me to the dining hall and we got in line for dinner. We got our food and carried our trays toward a vacant table. I felt so out of place in my ridiculous outfit but no one verbally teased me. Just gawking and giggles. Not even taunts when my napkin fell off my tray and I bent over to pick it up, again fully displaying my diapers and rhumba panties. But that did cause a fairly raucous laughter, as did my battle to sit down in my very full dress.

“You gotta learn how to be more Ladylike Stephie!” Lisa scolded.

I wasn't especially hungry and ate slowly, which was not my normal habit. Lisa finished before me and excused herself.

“I gotta call Ms. Roberts and ask her something.” And with cell phone in hand, she got up and returnd her tray to the dishwashing area and made her call nearby it. I just picked at my food until she returned.

“Guess what, Little Miss Priss! Ms. Roberts has gave me permission to take you back with me to my camp for a slumber party with the girls in my cabin. We'll have such girly fun with you tonight!”

I cringed at the idea of it. But, at least I wouldn't have to sleep in a crib in the nursery I thought.

“Finish up Stephie. We gotta head back to the nursery first. They'll pack a diaper bag of things you'll need for your stay with us. Ohhhh, I can't wait to show you off to the girls. We'll have ever so much fun with you tonight!” She anxiously squealed.

A little too anxious to suit me.

Carrying my diaper bag in one hand and holding Lisa's with the other, we walked a well worn path over the meadow to the girls camp--Camp Sunnyvale. The sun was low in the sky and would soon be setting. I wondered what this night held in store for me and shuddered, as I wrestled with my dress and petticoats for control.

As we approached “Hummingbird Cabin”, which was Lisa's and situated in the middle of a long row of cabins, Lisa gave me a warning.

“Now Pumpkin, I expect you to be a very good little girl tonight and to do as you're told. Understand Sweetie Pie?”

“Yes Lisa.” I moaned.

We stepped through a screen door and into a screened in porch and stood before the entrance door to the cabin itself.

“Give me your diaper bag and I'm gonna go in first and tell my girlfriends you're here. Then, I'll open the door and you'll come in with a big smile on your face and say--HI--MY NAME'S STEPHANIE. Then you'll curtsey to everyone. Got it?”

“I'm not gonna curtsey!” I rebelled.

An immediate hard slap crossed my face for the second time this day and made tears well up in my eyes.

“If you don't do as you're told Stephie, you'll get a lot more slaps only they'll be across your bare girlie fanny with a hairbrush. Understand?”

She went inside and closed the door behind her. Moments later, she reopened it and with much fear, I ventured in.

“Hi, my name's Stephanie.” And I curtsied as best as I could, not really knowing how to perform that embarrassing, girlish gesture.

About a dozen or so girls swormed around me, like bees to honey, gushing over me. They played with my ringlets and sausage curls, fingered my hair ribbons, fluffed my petticoats. One bent me over to show off my diapers and rhumba panties. Comments about me abounded.

“He's absolutely adorable Lisa.” said one girl.

“Precious! And recently permed. I can still smell it in his curls.” another.

“Such a pretty dress!” still another.

“Need your diaper changed?” and so on and so on.

I was placed on a high stool with my butt on the seat, my dress and petticoats encircling me and the stool. Being short, my legs didn't quite reach the floor and dangled awkwardly. I managed to rest them on the front rung of the stool and someone giggled and said. “Girls keep their legs together when they sit sissy boy. But you'll learn.” And I closed my legs.

Most of the girls seemed ready for bedtime, dressed in nities or pajamas or nitegowns or Teddies and such. Some had there hair set in curlers. All were quite cute actually.

One girl approached me and handed me a Sippy cup full of soda, which I nervously drank from. It tasted a little strange but I was thirsty. I would later find out that was due to a laxative that had been put in it.

The girls, innocently seeming, started asking me questions like how I liked being a little girl now or how I liked wearing frilly dresses and petticoats or I liked having my hair in ribbons and curls or what it felt like to wear wet, poopy diapers.

I responded with brief answers like “not at all” or “awful” or “horrible”.

The final question came from a shy girl who had not yet spoken.

“Where are you from and where do you go to school?”

I hesitated and Lisa scolded, “Answer her Stephie.”

I told here where I was from and the school I attended.

“Wow!” chimed the girl who had asked. “What a coincidence! Do you know Sally Jo Reynolds? She's my cousin.”

I replied, “I really don't know her but I know who she is. She was in a couple of my classes this year.”

Lisa then hushed the girls and looked at me and spook.

“You're gonna have such a fun time tonight with us Stephie and I'm sure we'll have a VERY fun time with you. Are you gonna be a good little girl for us?”

I nodded “yes”.

“That-a-girl.” she said with a devilish grin on her face.

Lisa contnued. “Now we're gonna make a little movie Nancyboy and you'll be the star of it. And I'll play your Mommy in it--well, in voice only, off camera.”

One of the girls walked to a closet and took out a video camera on a tall tripod and Lisa explained further.

“And in the process of making our movie, you'll learn a much needed lesson in girlish deportment.”

No way, I thought and jumped toward the door only to quickly be wrestled into submission by the girls.

“You just made a huge mistake Stephie!” Lisa said. “Hold him tight and bend him over girls.”

I knew what was coming and started crying loudly.

“Turn on the camera Becky.” Lisa ordered, as she pulled my diapers and rhumba panties down to my ankles and grabbed a hairbrush.

The girls gasped and then laughed at the sight of my bare bum.

“I know you're only 4 or 5 years old and still in diapers Sweetie, but do you think you can count all the way up to twenty like a big girl?”

I gave no answer and none was expected.

“Count off aloud each spankie you're given Stephie.” And she whacked my fanny.

“Ahh--one!” I screamed in pain. “Ahhh---two!” “Ahhhh----three!” and so on until twenty was finally reached.

I was gasping for breath and couldn't stop crying from the pain--the pain from my burning, sore and, I'm sure, very red bottom. And from the pain of having such a humiliating thing done to me.

I was led to a corner with my diapers and rhumbas still around my ankles and made to stand facing it while holding the back of my dress and petticoats up to give a good view of my reddened behind to the girls and the rolling camera.

“Just stand there awhile Stephie and try to calm down and compose yourself.” Lisa said, as she gave my butt a hard pinch to add more pain and insult.

“I hope we didn't em-BARR-a-s him too much!” joked a girl, and the others roared in laughter at her pun. But I certainly found none of it funny.

After what was probably only about 15 minutes, but seemed a lifetime to me, my diapers and rhumba panties were pulled back up and I was reseated on the stool.

Lisa asked, “Well, you little pantywaist, are you ready to become a movie star now?”

I was broken now and nodded “yes”.

“Before we make our movie Stephie, you need to learn a few things about acting like a proper little girl.” said Lisa.

Lisa spent the next half hour teaching me how to curtsey and sit correctly. How to daintily lift up the front and back of my dress and petticoats to expose my frilly panties. How to tilt my head at an angle while twisting a finger in the corner of my mouth. How to twirl my dress and toss my curls and blows kisses. An array of incredibly girlish gestures designed to make me appear as a prim and proper but precocious little girl, and to cause great humiliation for me.

While all this was going on, girls were busy setting things up for the movie. A few were busy scripting something with black markers on sheets of posterboard that sat on an easel. A couple worked on hooking up a Karaoke machine to a TV. Sarah fussed with the video camera for the perfect angle. The rest just watched me practicing my sissy moves and roared with laughter.

When I had reasonably mastered the art of little girlish behavior, I was seated back on the stool.

Lisa continued, “Now Stephie, our little movie is gonna be more of a music video. Isn't that exciting!”

I just sighed.

“If you try to fight us over it, you'll be very soundly spanked. Have no doubt that you are going to do this.”

I wiped tears from my face with a tissue I'd been given as she went on.

“If you don't perform to your very best ability, like a sweet, precious happy little girl; we'll make sure that this video is seen by everyone at Camp Sissy Curls and here at our camp. AND we'll make certain that a copy finds its way to your school through Monica's cousin, Sally Jo.”

Oh crap, they really had me over a barrel.

“If you do it well, then what happens in Hummingbird Cabin stays in Hummingbird Cabin. But if you do it poorly, then a ton of people will see it.”

I wanted to run for the door but knew I couldn't.

“Time to rehearse the song your gonna sing with the Karaoke machine in the movie Steph.”

She told me that the song I was going to sing was a rather obscure one from the mid 1960's by a group called “The Who”. The group was vaguely familiar to me, remembering something about a boy and a pinball machine.

“The song is perfectly suited for a sissy boy like you.” Lisa taunted.

The song was called “I'm a Boy” and it wasn't familiar to me. I was made to rehearse it with the Karaoke machine until I finally got it right, after many tries. I could see from the lyrics why the song had been chosen. I guessed it was better than singing “On the Good Ship Lollipop” or “I'm a Little Teapot”--though only slightly better.

Next task was to become familiar with the lines I'd have to recite.

“Look at the cue cards on the easel Stephie. You'll read your parts from them, like Leno or Letterman does. I want you to just read through them silently to yourself three or four times to become familiar with them. Note the stage directions in the parentheses and the “mommy” parts I'll say off camera.”

Many more tissues were needed as I silently read several times the excruciatingly embarrassing lines I was to speak.

“Okay Sweetie, let's roll the camera! And do your very best or a whole lotta people that you don't want to see this--WILL!” And Lisa sat herself off camera, but in view of the cue cards, to deliver her part as “mommy”.

Two girls dried my face and freshened up my makeup and lipstick and primped my curls and adjusted my ribbons and poised my dress and petties around me and the stool.

“Don't cry and spoil your look Babydoll.” Warned one of the makeup girls.

“Okay Stephie, legs together at an angle. Head up with a little tilt. Your finger to your mouth and------Oh!!! I almost forgot.”

She placed a Raggedy Ann doll in my free arm and said “Open up and stick out your tongue.”

She gently attached a small paper clip to the tip of my tongue. I wondered why on earth she did this. To my horror, I'd soon find out its purpose.

“If you flub up a part Steph, we'll rewind and edit and retape it. But don't make us have to do that too much or you'll be sorry. Now big smile, my pretty little sissy.”

“Quiet on the set.” Lisa called. “Ready Sarah. And lights, camera annnnddd ACTION!”

The camera was turned on and Lisa pointed her finger at me and silently mouthed the word “Go”. I braced myself, smiled and felt a little pee trickle into my diapers from fear.

“Hi everybody, my name's Stephanie and I'm five years old.” And I held my free hand out and spread my five fingers wide, as the stage direction on the cue card directed.

“I used to be Stephen but I was a weally bad boy, so now I'm a pwetty widdle girwl. I wove wearing pwetty dwesses and petticoats and panties and having my hair done up in wibbons and curwls.”

“Would you like to show us your pretty panties Stephanie?” Lisa said, right on cue.

“Oh Mommy nooo!!” I coquettishly feigned.

“Come on now. Little girls love to show off their pretty panties Sweet Pea!”

“Well,” and I batted my eyelashes, “if you weally want to see them---okay.”

I carefully got off my stool, placed my doll on it, and dropped a deep curtsey to the camera. All around, off camera, the girls struggled to keep from laughing out loud. As I'd been taught, I lifted the front of my dress and petticoats up high while twisting a little from side to side. I held that position until Lisa spoke after five or six seconds.

“Oh my Stephanie--very pretty. Can we see the back?”

“Yeth Mommy.” And I turned around, bent over and exposed the seat of my rhumba panties and wiggled my bum a little.

“I hope my little sweetpie hasn't messed her didees!”

“No Mommy.” I called over my shoulder.

“Oh my Gawd.” laughed a girl who had lost her battle to stifle herself.

“Cut! And hold that pose Stephanie.” cried Lisa. “Girls, you have to keep totally silent!” She scolded. “Rewind back to just after Stephanie's last line and we'll take it from there.”

With the camera rolling again, Lisa spoke. “Don't you have a little song you'd like to sing for everybody Stephie?”

“Yes pwease Mommy.” I gushed and I stood up, turned back to face the camera and smoothed my dress and petties. I curtsied again and directed my eyes to the TV screen to follow the Karaoke lyrics and cues. I girlishly played with the skirt of my dress and twisted a little from side to side.

As the music began, again out of embarrassment and fear, I felt a little pee make its way into my diapers. I hoped I wouldn't be drenched by the end of the video.

On cue I began to sing.

“Cuuuttt!” snarled Lisa again, unhappy with something.

(In truth, it took several takes to get the song right and satisfy Lisa. The fourth one was, finally, good enough for her.)

“Song take four. Annnnnd GO!” called Lisa, pointing at me.

I lisped my rendition as little girlishly as I could in a sing songy, high pitched voice.

“One girwl wasth called Jean Mawie” “Another widdle girwl wasth Felwicity” “Another widdle girwl wasth Sallwy Joy” “The other one wasth me and I'm a BOY!”

For the second verse, as the cue card indicated, I moved one hand to my head and began to play with my sausage curls and ribbons.

“My name is Bill, and I'm a headcase” “They pwactice making up on my face” “Yeah, I feel wucky if I get twousers to wear” “Spend evenings taking hairpins fwom my hair”

For the chorus, I had to twirl as I sang.

“I”m a boy, I'm a boy” “But my ma won't admit it” “I'm a boy, I'm a boy” “But if I say I am, I get it”

By verse three, burning with shame, tears poured out of my eyes.

“Put your fwock on, Jean Mawie” “Plait your hair, Felwicity” “Paint your nails, widdle Sallwy Joy” “Put this wig on, widdle boy”

The song ended with me twirling again as I sang the chorus.

Lisa clapped loudly and gushed “That was adorable! Just perfect Stephanie. I'm so proud of my little girl!”

I gave a broad smile, tilted my head and answered, “Thank you Mommy.”

I gave a deep curtsey and then blew a kiss to the camera.

“Cut--good job sissy boy. Take four was the charm.” Lisa said.

To my great surprise, she walked to me and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. It did give me some comfort after the girlie torture I had just gone through. And I did so like to be close to her, even dressed as a little girl.

Author's note: Thanks and credit to Peter Townsend and “The Who”, of whom I've been a huge fan for years. If I recall correctly, this song was actually discussed in the discussion forum here some time back.

I was exhausted from the video and Lisa and the other girls could see that.

“You did pretty well Steph, “ Lisa said, “and you earned a break. We'll get you outta your dress and petticoats and into something more comfortable.”

She got my diaper bag and fished out the fairly plain pink nitegown that had been packed for me.

She held it up and frowned, “This won't do, it's much too boring.”

Looking toward the gaggle of girls, she asked “Does anyone have anything a little more interesting for our little sissy to wear at her first slumber party? Preferably in pink, to match her rhumba panties.”

A girl named Dana immediately replied, “I have a pink teddy that would be perfect. I'll go get it.”

While Dana was gone, Lisa asked me, “Do you need a diaper change babycakes?”

I had wet myself a little during the taping. But definitely not noticeably and not to an extreme. And I so did not want to be changed in front of all these girls.

“No Lisa.” I answered.

Dana soon returned, the teddy in her hands.

The girls “oohhed” and “aahhed” when Dana presented it for their approval.

“Perfect Dana, thanks.” Lisa said.

The teddy was a very short and very sheer pink, lacy confection. It had a matching bra and I cringed at the thought of being put into one for the first time. I was made to strip down to nothing but my diapers and rhumba panties, as the girls laughed mercilessly.

Standing naked, save the diapers and panties, a couple of girls started dressing me. The bra was first and very humiliating to have on me. The teddy was then slipped over my head. It reached to about the half way point of my panties. The sheerness of it left my bra in full view. The only “saving grace” of it was that, at least, it was more comfortable and easier to manage than my huge dress and petticoats.

One girl mussed, “You know, he looks so convincing that one might think that he really WAS a girl.”

Another replied, “Yeah, you're right. Do you suppose people might think he's a real girl in the video?”

Still another, “Yeah, like we were faking the whole scenario with a real girl and pulled a fast one!”

Lisa spoke, “Well you girls could be right. But you know, I've got an idea to make sure that doesn't happen. Let's add another part to the video. We've got plenty of tape.”

I couldn't bear to think of what she had in mind and hung my head low.

Minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the camera again, sobbing and gasping for breath.

“Now Stephanie, when we turn on the camera and I point to you, I want you to pull your diapers and rhumba panties down, just in the front, and tuck them under your--ah--well--how can I say it--well--under your little sack. And then play with yourself until your little girlie weiner gets nice and hard and you--aahh--well--SQUIRT YOUR STICKY STUFF!”

The girls screamed with laughter and disbelief.

“That'll prove he's really a boy--well, a sissy boy at least.” cried a girl.

“NOOOO, please no. Please don't make me do that.” And I even got down on my knees and begged and pleaded. But to no avail. The girls were intent that I suffer this degrading act.

“You're gonna do this one way or another. You know that pansy. Give us a hard time and you know a lot of people will see this.” Lisa reminded.

I thought of the “barrel” again and got up from my knees in agony.

“Oh, and one more thing Stephie. While you're--ah--pleasuring yourself, so to speak, you're to repeat over and over---I WANNA BE A GIRL---I WANNA BE A GIRL.”

Lisa called for silence from the girls again. Sarah got the command to start rolling. And the finger was pointed.

Crying buckets of tears, I slowly pulled the front of my diapers and panties down and tucked them under my “thing”. It was small and limp. The girls tittered.

I started to perform the horrifying act and repeated over and over, “I wanna be a girl---I wanna be a girl.”

After about maybe a minute, or maybe a lifetime, Lisa shouted “Cut!”

“Is your girlie weiner broken Stephanie?” She asked, not expecting an answer. “It's going nowhere. Limp as a noodle. Now get it up sissy boy!”

The one milligram of dignity that was left in me was now gone.

The tape rolled again and I performed again, but with no success. My little soldier wouldn't “salute”.

The girls laughed and teased and I bawled (yes-pun intended).

“Cut!” Lisa shouted. “I guess the Nancyboy needs a little motivation.”

“No, he needs a vi-gra!!!” Someone shouted and the laughter was deafening.

I feared the motivation would be another spanking but I was wrong. In fact, what Lisa did was very surprising and astonishing. She removed her top and bra, exposing her gorgeous self, and stood as close as she could to me, without being seen on camera. She was well endowed for a sixteen year old.

“Show us there's some speck of manliness in you STEPHEN!”

The camera rolled.

“I wanna be a girl. I wanna be a girl. I wanna be a girl!” I said continually as I played with myself.

And before long, I became erect.

Someone just couldn't contain herself and shouted, “Look, Stephie's got a stiffie!”

That caused a lot of laughter but Lisa didn't stop the filming.

Finally, I “shot my wad” to the sound of loud applause.

Lisa yelled “Cut!” and put her bra and top back on.

Her little striptease had worked and it was wonderful to see her topless. But it wasn't worth the price I had to pay for it.

I stood there totally exhausted, wet from tears and sweat and the little bit of pee I'd done in my diapers during the video.

“Someone run a nice bubble bath for the sissy boy--need to get him squeaky clean for beddie bye.” Said Lisa.

Minutes later, I was relaxing in a tub full of bubbles, with a shower cap over my curls to protect them. Two girls named Jenny and Melissa were gently bathing me all over, taking care to remove all of my makeup too. It was actually quite soothing, especially after the performance I had just endured.

Bathed and dried, I was back in the main part of the cabin being powdered and diapered and pantied and redressed in my Teddie.

Jenny had tittered about the smallness of my “willy” when she diapered me.

“No wonder he wheres dresses and diapers!”

But that actually was the last snide remark I received for a long time.

By now, all the girls seemed calmed down and much less excited. They were all just sort of sitting around and chatting and doing all the “girl things” that girls did at a slumber party. They were setting each other's hair, painting each other's nails, talking about boys--normal stuff like that.

“Hi Stephie, I'm Sandy.” Said a cute, short haired blondie as she approached me. She was holding my hairnet filled with my rollers.

“I know your hair needs to be set each night to keep your lovely curls fresh. Would you like me to set it for you?”

I nodded yes, thinking it would be a lot less work for me.

We sat on the floor, Sandy behind me, and she began winding the pink rollers into my hair.

“I'll touch up his fingernails and his toenails need polish to match.” Volunteered another girl.

Under normal circumstances, having your hair set in rollers and your finger and toenails painted would be an awful experience for a boy. But no one was taunting or teasing me and they were treating me in a gentle way. Just like each other. I got the feeling that they even felt a little sorry for me and remorseful about what they'd put me through. I appreciated the TLC.

But unfortunately, it didn't last for long.

By the time my hair was set and hairnet in place and finger and toenails almost done, I started to feel The all too familiar “rumbling” inside me that meant that I needed to make use of my diapers, and soon.

I wiggled and squirmed and fidgeted as my fingernails dried and my toenails received their last coat of pink polish.

Lisa noticed and asked, “Stephie, do you need to use your diapers?”

The girls laughed and I just stared staight ahead and made no reply. Lisa knew I'd soon be using them.

“Let's get this on camera too!” Called Lisa.

Five minutes later, I was standing in front of the rolling camera again, su-king on a pacifier and dancing about trying not to mess myself.

“Stephie, do you need to poop your diapers?” Lisa asked off camera.

My only reply was “sobbing.

“Well don't hold back Sweetie. That's why little girls like you wear diapers!. That's what they're for honey.”

I so did not want to poop my diapers in front of everyone and have it caught on tape too. I struggled to contain myself. But I could tell I was losing the “Battle of the Diaper Bulge”.

“Go on Babycakes, let it all out.” Lisa coaxed.

I fought for a few more moments to keep from pooping, but I lost the battle.

With a very audible “grunt”, I filled the seat of my diapers with a large stinky load and wet them thoroughly.

Lisa called, “Good girl, Little Miss Stinky Pants.” And Lisa signaled and mouthed “Cut.”

The great laughter of the girls was soon stifled by the smell and replaced with cries of “Phew!” and “Oooh, he stinks!” And they pinched their noses.

I stood in front of them in shock again from the shameful thing I'd done in my diapers. Nobody was willing to change my wet, poopy mess, and who could really blame them. I'd have to wait until morning to be changed back at the camp nursery.

“I'm sorry Steph,” said Lisa, “but we can't have you sleeping here in the cabin and stinking up the place all night.”

A cot was set up out in the screened-in porch. It was a warm night and coldness wouldn't be a factor. I was led to it by several, nose pinched, girls and placed on it, with a blanket over me and my Raggedy Ann tucked under my arm. A girl proceeded to fix a long length of light chain securely around one of my ankles and locked it with a small padlock. She did the same with the other end around a wall beam.

“Can't have you running off in the night.” She quipped.

Yeah, I thought, like I'd run away in wet, poopy diapers and curlers and a Teddy. It was a very long, uncomfortable wet stinky night for me.

The next morning, sun up and shining, Lisa came out to the porch holding her nose and yawning.

“C'mon Poopy Pants, I'll walk you back to your camp. A nanny can change your horrid diapers.” And she unlocked the chain and tossed me some flip flops for the trek.

As we walked over the meadow to camp, she had me walk four or five paces behind her, wanting to stay “upwind” of me. She carried my dress on a hanger and I, my diaper bag.

My pee soaked diapers were leaking down my legs. I couldn't tell if my other “diaper deposit” was doing the same.

Not many, but some “boys” at camp were already out and about. As before, they gave hushed giggles at the sight of me, but said nothing--lest they might wind up like pitiful me.

In the nursery, a nanny fanned her nose and laughed. “Well Stephie, did you have fun at your first slumber party?”

Her sarcastic question required no answer and I just hung my head in shame and “stink” as Lisa bade “Good Bye!”

The nanny took my diaper bag and dress and hung it up. To my surprise and shock, she removed only my nitegown; leaving me just as I was in my bra, rollers, stinky soggy diapers, rhumba panties and flip flops.

“Ms Roberts' expecting you in her office stinky boy. March!”

Standing in front of Ms Roberts, she held her nose like everyone else and spoke.

“Since you can't seem to control your, shall I say, bodily functions Missy, I'm going to make an example out of you.”

“But nobody lets me use a toilet!' I replied in great frustration.

She was stymied by my reply and hesitated for a moment. “Don't you dare talk back to me--you stinky little sissy!”

And I didn't dare to say any more.

She regrouped herself and continued.

“You're going to be left like that until bedtime. You'll spend your day on the playground. A little fresh air will do you some good and everyone else too. You can play with the other campers, though I doubt they'll oblige you in your current state. You'll be seated outdoors for your lunch and dinner so you won't stink up the cafeteria. And that's the only time I'll expect to see you sitting. You're to wander the camp so everyone gets a good look at you.”

With that said, she took from her desk a fairly large piece of cardboard and punched two holes in the top corners. With a red, felt tip marker, she printed something on it. She attached a long piece of of pink yarn to the holes, creating a big loop. Holding her breath, she hung it around my neck in front, just under my bra.

I spent the rest of the day, almost in a trance, wandering around the camp in my wet, sticky mess.

My sign read: “Caution--wet, poopy diapers!”

I realized my humiliation had no bounds!

Except for a half hour each for a bagged lunch and dinner under the shade of a tree, I spent the next eight or more hours walking aimlessly, well more “waddling” I suppose, around the camp.

I was totally wet from the waste down and stunk beyond belief. My diapers sagged and drooped greatly and the sag increased as the day went on and I had to wet and poop more.

I certainly didn't engage any of my fellow campers, in the condition I was in. And likewise, they kept away, and up wind of me. They only just pointed to me and giggled girlishly and then went about their games or activities. I so envied them in their pink pleated skirts and panties and camp T-shirts. They were dressed in simple age appropriate, for a real girl at least, outfits. And they were clean.

While the “boys” at my camp pretty much left me alone, any visiting girls from Camp Sunnyvale who happened to see me teased me mercilously--from afar though to avoid my “scent”. Several made me pose as they took my picture with their digital cameras and made wisecracks about my smelly diapers and the sign I wore around my neck.

It was probably after 6PM when I heard over the camp loudspeaker system, “Stephanie Crandall please report to the camp nursery.”

Reprieve I thought and gladly made my way there as quickly as I could waddle, being careful though to assure that the horrid “brown” contents of my diapers remained within them and my rhumba panties.

A nanny met me at the door holding a bar of soap, a towel and a black plastic trash bag. She held her nose and said, “Stop right there Missy! You're not stepping foot in here like that.”

She directed my around to back of the building where a faucet and hose were. Not getting too near, she tossed me the soap and the bag. She told me to open the large bag, remove my flip flops and step into it. And I did.

“Now carefully take off your bra and pull off your rhumba panties Stephanie and toss them on the grass.” That done, she continued. “Now pull those awful diapers down to your ankles and off, keeping them in the bag.” And I did.

She then had me step out of the bag and told me to tie it with the drawstrings and had me throw it into a nearby dumpster.

“We're gonna do a little prewash before taking you inside for a thorough cleaning.” But then she remembered something. “Oops, I forgot your shower cap.” She left me naked there and hurried back inside and returned a minute later.

“Now take the soap. I'll spray some water your way and you wash your poopy hands completely.” With my hands clean from pulling off my diapers, she tossed me the shower cap to put over my hairnet and curlers.

“While I spray you, you srub yourself thoroughly. Every knook and cranny of your body.”

The water was cold but it was still quite warm outside and I didn't care. I was naked and this was all very humiliating, but I didn't care. I was just so glad to be clean and out of those horrible, stinky diapers. It took a long time you get clean but eventually I was done. As I dried myself with the towel, the nanny hosed off my rhumba panties and placed them in a small plastic bag to go into the wash later. And she threw the bar of soap in the dumpster. She gathered my things and we headed inside. I wore the towel around me.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in a tub full of very pretty smelling bubbles for a final cleaning. It felt wonderful and I wished I could sit there for hours. But I had to be made ready for bedtime. My hair would not have to be set though, as I still had it in rollers from the night before.

Diapered, teeth brushed and dressed for bed; I was glad to be put into my crib early. I was exhausted and slept like a baby, literally.

8:00AM, I was awakened by the flash of lights being turned on and the sound of nannies moving about and the now familiar smell of soggy, stinky diapers. As I counted in my head to determine that this was only the start of my fourth day at this hellish camp, I was very pleased to realize that the diaper smell wasn't coming from me. My diapers were still clean and dry and I felt no urgent need to use them either. I was thrilled.

A nanny stood over me and stuck a few fingers into the front of my diapers. “Wow! Good girl Stephanie. You didn't mess your didees. I'm very proud of you sweetie.”

And I actually was proud of me too.

“Well,” she continued, “you've earned yourself a reward Stephie.”

I cynically wondered if that “reward” would really be something I'd like. And I was soon to discover that it truly was a reward for me.

I was taken from the crib and totally stripped of everything I had on, including my still clean diapers. The nanny then took a pair of panties (bloomers, she called them) and had me step into them. They were yellow gingham cotton and had white lace around the waste and leg openings. Certainly little girlish, but not as frilly and prissy as the rhumba panties I had been wearing. And best of all, they weren't covering diapers. They weren't even designed for that purpose. I was diaper free and it felt so good. I even smiled as I looked down at them. To be happy about such a thing seemed incredulous I knew, but it was a big improvement in my situation.

Next came a training bra, white anklets with lace cuffs that matched my panties, and white sandals.

The final garment also matched my panties. It was a yellow gingham cotton dress with a white Peter Pan collar and white trim on the cuffs of the short puffed sleeves. It had a sewn in, fairly full, white petticoat. But, at least, it wasn't as voluminous as the petticoats I'd worn before. The dress reached down to just above the white lace trim on the leg openings of my bloomers. My outfit was still very little girlish, but not nearly as frilly and prissy and “busy” as the pink satin party dress. And it was a lot more comfortable to have on.

It wasn't the simple pleated skirt and top that most boys wore, but it was a step up for me. No diapers was the best though.

The nanny removed my curlers and did my hair. She tied a large yellow gingham bow to the top of my head. It matched my dress perfectly.

“Ms Roberts wants”

“I know.” I said interrupting the nanny (though not rudely), “She wants to meet me in her office.”

I was so happy to be out of diapers and more simply dressed, that I found myself almost skipping to her office. Realizing this, I slowed to a normal walk and chastised myself for doing such a girlish thing.

Standing in front of her desk, Ms Roberts complimented me.

“Your new outfit looks good on you Stephanie.” And she paused for a moment.

Expecting her to continue, I offered no reply. But she was indeed expecting a reply.

“A thank you and a curtsey would be in order now Stephanie.”

And I did so, almost genuinely too.

She continued, “I thought about what you said yesterday about not being allowed to use the toilet, which by the way, we refer to as the 'potty' here at camp. And since you didn't mess your diapers over night, I've decided to give you the chance to prove you don't need them.”

She paused and I picked up on her cue.

“Thank you Ms Roberts.” And I curtsied again.

“Furthermore, I'm going to put you into the general population of the camp.”

She sounded like a prison warden I thought. But then--this place was like a prison--a sissy prison.

“You'll be bunking in Sugar Plum cabin. It's just out the main door and to your left, about a hundred yards down the path. You'll find it on your right, just past Tinkerbell cabin. The counselor there is waiting for you. You can leave now and stay dry.”

“Yes Ms Roberts. Thank you.” And I gave a final curtsey.

I headed for Sugar Plum cabin. Many boys, in their regulation pleated skirts and camp T-shirts, passed by me in the opposite direction. I figured they were headed for breakfast. I noticed that their skirts were navy blue. I'd seen khaki tan, and pink and now, navy blue skirts. I wondered if there was a different color for each day of the week.

I could tell they all recognized me from my venture around the camp in poopy diapers yesterday. They giggled a little at me in my little girl dress but some, for the first time, actually spoke to me in passing. And not unkindly.

“Congratulations.” Said one.

“Big improvement.” Said another.

“You must be so glad to be out of diapers.” Said yet another.